Burning Flipside is an art festival at a pukka location in the Texas Hill Country. What can I say? It’s flaming hot, things are burned, costumes are worn. Tenses are confused, verbs are conjugated and there’s a creek to swim in to give relief from the merciless sun.
Flipside has a new recruit in me. I had a better time than I imagined possible. My stick critter received critical acclaim, I introduced the B52 to the battle against any temporary bouts of sobriety and I broke a very large monkey’s arm. In a large campground, it’s amazing how power and monkey juice can quickly go to your head. Armed with a bullhorn and a golf cart, a select group of volunteers got to rampage around the dirt tracks marshalling arriving traffic and doing gratuitous donuts around cattle grids. It sure was a blast, with very few incidents despite the massive tanks of propane, various petroleum products and dry ice. I even got married on Friday night. Bonza.
As Papa Lazarou might say, “You’re my wife now.”